


Mismatched

by citizenjess (givehimonemore)



Category: Queer as Folk (US) RPF
Genre: Co-workers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 07:17:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givehimonemore/pseuds/citizenjess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Randy reflects on the status of his romantic life, and the inclusion (or exclusion) of a certain lanky co-star.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mismatched

**Author's Note:**

> Written circa-2006.

Truth be told, Randy Harrison really liked being part of a couple. He enjoyed coming home at the end of the day and having his significant other waiting for him with a smile as gentle hands massaged his aching shoulders. He liked the feeling of knowing he was loved and not alone; and quite honestly, the sex didn’t hurt, either.

But being a celebrity in a relationship was hard. The press constantly nagged at you for tidbits of info and juicy gossip; people clamored for pictures of you walking together, having a cup of coffee, or even just trying to get inside of your apartment complex in one piece; and the speculation alone could drive a person insane.

Being seen alone or looking particularly frazzled at an event was just asking for it, too. One tabloid reporter even had the gall to come up to him and ask if it were “in any way attributed to problems in your personal life”.

There was also the added strain of geographical distance. Randy lived primarily in New York City, and would continue to long after the world calmed down about “Queer as Folk”. Randy loved the cast and crew, and would forever be grateful for the show jump-starting his career, but being in Toronto eight months out of the year did not bode well for his long-distance interpersonal relationships.

Randy had always been attracted to career men, which was one of the other problems, he supposed. His first boyfriend had been a fledgling stage actor. Randy had been nineteen, they’d worked together, and all of a sudden, one thing led to another. But he hadn’t been able to move up to Toronto with Randy, and Randy would have felt terrible for making him sacrifice his own career for his boyfriend’s. So they’d agreed to make it work long-distance. “I’ll call you three times a day!” Randy had enthused at the airport.

But “three” turned into “one” and “days” turned into “weeks”. Randy hated staying home by himself after the week’s shooting was over while everyone else went out to the movies or bowling, but he also had a hard time explaining over the phone why he wasn’t pining over not being able to spend any legitimate couple time together.

To his benefit, Daniel always insisted that he didn’t want Randy to mope around, that he felt secure enough in their relationship to not worry every time Randy wanted to take a break and have some fun. But dutifully, Randy insisted to the press (and himself) that he wanted nothing more on a Friday evening than to curl up on the couch in front of the TV, and tried not to jump up excitedly every time Gale asked if he was busy that weekend.

Ah, Gale; probably the *other* biggest problem with Randy’s various relationships. It wasn’t that the older man was antagonistic about his co-star’s boyfriends; on the contrary, he was always respectful and polite when they came up in conversation. When Randy had shown him a picture of Daniel that he carried around in his wallet, Gale had smiled and said he was lucky. When the Twin Towers had been destroyed and the set closed for the afternoon out of respect for the disaster, Gale had held Randy when he broke down, unable to get through to Daniel on his cell for over three hours until the phone lines cleared up.

When he’d trudged into work glumly and told everyone that he and Daniel had called it quits, Gale was the first one to show up at his trailer with comfort food and a friendly ear. And when Randy jauntily announced that he was dating a New York-based reporter named Simon, Gale had puffed on his cigarette and wished them all the best.

So Randy didn’t know why he couldn’t make himself equally complacent in the face of Gale’s own relationship status. Perhaps it was because Gale didn’t exactly stick with anyone for the long-term; eight years more of experience and odd jobs than Randy had taught him not to ever get *too* settled in anywhere or with anyone. Randy had lost count of the women he’d seen latched onto the older man’s arm since they’d begun working together. Always pretty and petite, always laughing and batting their eyelashes adoringly up at Gale; always so happy to be basking in his company, if only for as long as whatever event or premiere they were at lasted -- and usually, that was about the extent of their shelf-life as Gale’s significant other.

‘Perhaps’, Randy thought to himself, ‘I’m just jealous’. And then he would sigh and chastise himself for having a fantastic for over two years who loved him and cared for him and daring to think about anyone else; for expecting Gale to rethink his sexual preferences for Randy, of all people; and for believing that Gale liked him in a romantic sort of way in the first place.

Randy had never completely gotten over his mini-crush on the older man. Even as he loved and lost and languished in the single life before hooking up again, he had never quite lost his attraction to Gale Harold. He wondered, sometimes, if that’s why he was so desperate to be part of a twosome – to prove to himself *and* everyone else that he didn’t need Gale. He might have wanted him, wanted to kiss that luscious mouth, to have their tongues sliding together and realize as they pulled away that Gale – not Brian – had kissed *him*, not his QaF alter-ego. But Randy could live without him.

Nonetheless, he didn’t make much of a point to prove this to himself when Gale slid into the seat next to him as he nursed an iced tea during breaks, or interrupted his quiet sullenness by pulling whatever book Randy had been staring at out of his hands to announce his presence.

“What’s up?” the older man put forth, eyeing his co-star casually. Even when he didn’t appear to be trying, Gale’s looks could be so intense.

“Not a whole lot,” Randy replied mildly. He gestured to the book that Gale had confiscated from him and was now paging through. “Don’t lose my place, okay?”

“I won’t,” Gale murmured, reaching in-between the last page and back cover. His fingers closed around Randy’s make-shift bookmark and he raised an eyebrow. “How’s Simon?”

“Great,” Randy announced, biting his lip and wondering why he’d felt a pang of – what? Longing? Betrayal? Loneliness? - when Gale had pulled out the photo he’d taken of Simon at a book signing they’d gone to together some months back. The man was good-looking, intelligent, kind . . . ‘and not here. Not accessible. Not . . . Gale,’ Randy thought.

And as he tuned back into his co-star’s idle chattering about the girl he’d taken out for sushi a couple weeks ago, Randy rationalized that maybe it was better that way.

-*-

Some weeks later, Randy found himself in San Francisco, mulling through the crowds of some pro-gay marriage event idly. Technically, he’d been called upon to make an appearance n Atlanta for yet another season four premiere party, but if he had to watch episode 401 one more time, he was going to scream. At least in California, he wasn’t involved in anything directly related to the show for one night.

So it was almost comical when Randy spun around after somebody tapped him on the shoulder and came face-to-face with Gale. “What are you doing here?” Randy laughed, ignoring the butterflies in his stomach.

“There was a premiere party across town this same weekend,” Gale grinned. “So I figured that while I was here anyway, I might as well put in an appearance.”

“Right,” Randy returned. He noticed the woman – another pert blonde – attached to Gale’s arm and blink in only vague surprise. Gale noticed and shifted his weight to the other foot.

“Uh, this is Susan, my publicist,” he explained quickly. “She’s accompanying me for the evening.” The woman nodded cheerfully and shook hands with Randy, and then, seeming to sense his reluctance to say much with her there, excused herself for a drink.

“So where are you staying tonight?” Gale inquired, turning his attention – and another of his fierce stares – back to Randy.

“I’ve got a hotel room,” the blond replied. “Actually, I’m probably going to head back there pretty quickly,” he continued. “I’m kind of beat, and I’ve got to fly back to New York tomorrow and all.”

Gale nodded. “That’s understandable . . . although, technically, it’s barely nine ‘o’ clock,” he pointed out, eyes twinkling.

“I like to start early,” Randy frowned, not in the mood for Gale’s teasing. The older man seemed to sense it, because his expression sobered a bit.

“I know you do,” he said sincerely. “All the same, though, do you want some company, maybe?”

“I thought you were here with Susan,” Randy argued. He didn’t know why he was being so antagonistic tonight, but he couldn’t stop himself sometimes.

“We both have our own transportation,” Gale shrugged. He put his arm around Randy’s shoulders and gave him a light squeeze. “So how about it, Rand? We can grab a bag of microwave popcorn and the TV remote and make a date of it,” he persisted.

And against his better judgment, Randy agreed.

-*-

“You weren’t kidding about the microwave popcorn,” Randy laughed as Gale set the bowl down on the coffee table. The hotel room was set up like a spacious apartment, and included a makeshift living room with a large television set as its centerpiece.

“Let’s see what’s on the boob tube,” Gale suggested, plopping down airily on the couch next to Randy and picking up the remote. Randy tried not to notice as their legs brushed together, and focused his attention back to the suggested task at hand.

“Oh, geez, not this,” Randy bemoaned dramatically as Gale flipped to VH1’s “Going Inside: Queer as Folk” special. “Gale, come on, there’s gotta be a movie or something else on.”

“Stop queening out,” Gale grinned, patronizing Randy by quoting Brian. Usually, Randy found this hard to resist, but this time, he at least attempted to.

“I’m not queening out, I’m just not thrilled to watch anything even remotely affiliated with the show for another few months,” Randy protested, snagging a few fluffy kernels of popcorn from the bowl and popping them into his mouth.

“Come on, it’ll be amusing to see how out of context they’ve taken us,” Gale cajoled, apparently not going to budge. Randy signed and stared at the screen, rolling his eyes at the speculation over his and his co-stars’ sexualities.

“As a non-gay male . . .” TV!Gale was saying; again, Randy felt a pang of *something* shoot through him. He hated how an actor’s perceived credibility was affected by whether they were gay or not – it wasn’t like people questioned the believability of Leonardo diCaprio’s portrayal of Gilbert Grape because he wasn’t mentally retarded in real life. He jumped when Gale touched his arm suddenly.

“Are you alright? You seem tense,” Gale ventured, noting Randy’s subconsciously tightened jaw. The younger man shook his head quickly, eyes still glaring at the screen, and Gale sighed. “I hate when they ask about my sexuality, too,” he continued. “I just . . . I never have a straight answer for them – no pun intended – you know?”

“They’ve got to figure it out when you say you’re straight for the thousandth time,” Randy grunted, eyeing his co-star as the credits began to roll.

Gale licked his lips. “Well, if you want to be technical,” he said quietly. “I never actually told them I was straight.”

Randy raised an eyebrow, wondering idly where this was going. “Oh?” he queried uncertainly.

“I said I was a non-gay-male,” Gale affirmed. “But I never ruled out the possibility that I’m . . . you know . . .”

“Bi?” Randy smiled. He didn’t know why he suddenly felt so giddy, but it quickly subsided when he put things in perspective. So Gale was curious – so what? That didn’t mean he was interested in anyone, least of all, Randy, and besides, Randy had a boyfriend. A boyfriend who loved him and was out of the closet and didn’t have to play mind games and didn’t live in the perpetual world of maybe, kind of, and in-between.

A boyfriend who wasn’t Gale; and unfortunately, he would never be able to disarm Randy with one of his irresistibly mischievous grins the way Gale was doing right now. “Yeah,” Gale breathed. “I guess I’m probably bi.”

“Oh,” Randy replied, suddenly feeling awkward.

“Just ‘oh’?” Gale laughed, smile wavering just a bit.

Randy frowned. “Well, what do you want me to say?” he asked heatedly. “’Oh, that’s great, Gale, now we can finally get together’? Now it’s okay to – to have fantasies about you and me and us because you might possibly be having them, too? You can’t just toss this kind of thing at me casually, Gale, when you’re just going to be seen hanging on the arm of some chick two days from now. It’s not fair,” the smaller man finished, tiredly.

Gale sighed and ran his hands through his hair, the way he did when he was nervous or frustrated – it was something he had specifically brought to the show, even though most people assumed it was just a Brian-specific trait. Randy usually found it adorable, and even though he was bordering on pissed off right now, he felt his anger subside just a bit as Gale tangled his fingers in the silky brown strands.

“I – what do you want me to do, then, Randy?” he finally said. “I mean – I don’t know. I guess I should have never told you if it was going to upset you this much. Shit.” He scrubbed at his face and Randy sighed.

“I’m glad you told me,” Randy replied softly. “I just . . . I don’t know what to say that won’t sound pathetic and whiny. I don’t even know if you’re planning on, on acting on whatever you’re feeling; if you even like any guys at the moment.”

“I like you,” Gale replied in the same low tenor. “I like women, too, and predominantly, but I feel different when I’m with you. Like, more intense, somehow.” Gale looked down at the barely-grazed-over bowl of popcorn and grinned weakly. “I guess I should just shut up, now.”

“It’s okay,” Randy replied, and then paused. “I – I like you, too, Gale,” he said finally. “But . . . I don’t know if it’s in the same way as what you’re feeling – if you’re just fancying a quick romp in the sack or what.”

“I don’t know,” Gale said quietly. “I just – I know I’m curious –“

“But that’s just it, Gale,” Randy replied sadly, wondering why he had to be so damned stubborn about his dating expectations, why he couldn’t just throw caution to the wind and his arms around the shoulders of the man he’d secretly pined after for four years. “I can’t put myself in a position where I’m constantly wondering if my partner’s ready to be in a long-term relationship,” he continued. “I can’t deal with the constant wishy-washy-ness and having to tell the press that nothing’s going on because you aren’t sure if you can deal with being out. I can’t do that, Gale,” Randy finished. “Even for you.”

Gale let out a long sigh. “I don’t expect you to,” he murmured. “But . . . I don’t know if I’m ready for all the hype and whatnot, either. So . . . maybe it’s just best that I go,” he rationalized. Hazel eyes met turbulent blue ones, and Randy swallowed hard.

“Maybe you should,” the blond sighed. Neither man moved for several seconds, however. It was when Gale leaned forward to proffer a goodbye kiss – their private tradition ever since season one filming – that things became irrevocably fucked. What usually was just a quick peck on his lips became a full-on make-out session as Gale’s tongue slipped into the warm wetness of Randy’s mouth.

Randy groaned quietly as he felt Gale pull him closer, hands on his shoulders, and then fingers on his jawline, angling his face upward to continue plundering his mouth. When they broke apart, Randy stared up into Gale’s flushed face with dilated pupils and found himself unconsciously licking his lips.

“Y-you should go,” Randy insisted. He didn’t trust himself not to give in if Gale stayed.

“R-Randy –"

“Please, Gale. Go.”

When the door shut, Randy thought it echoed the thudding of his heart in his chest all too well.

-*-

It didn’t surprise Randy when the casual “how’re you doing?” calls stopped coming, even though a part of him ached to hear the phone ring and see “Gale” on his caller ID. It wasn’t as if he weren’t asking for it, what with skipping out on at least two events in favor of hermiting himself in his apartment. After all, Randy had told Gale to go; the message couldn’t get much clearer than that.

On top of his absence (which apparently had caused an uproar with fans, to Randy’s sardonic delight), Randy had accidentally-on-purpose let vague details of his relationship with Simon slip to a fairly garrulous member of the press. He almost felt sorry for Michael Musto, who had undoubtedly been buried underneath piles of frantic, electronic hate mail for being the harbinger of bad news. Almost.

And while Randy hadn’t been surprised to hear that Gale was seen getting cozy with some Canadian rock chick named Kim at one of the premieres, he’d still felt himself subconsciously scowling. Apparently, his co-star didn’t have too much of a problem bouncing back from Randy’s rebuttal. Even though he’d managed to get out before becoming too drawn in; even though Randy’s already having a boyfriend was even more of a reason why it was good to have not let things go any further; even though he had the same right to love and relational bliss as Randy.

Even though he wasn’t really straight; even though the one person who knew that also knew that they could never be together until Gale was ready to admit that; and even though Randy would always feel he and Gale were both secretly mismatched when paired with anybody but each other.

Yes, this was how it should be; how it had to be; too bad it wasn’t how Randy wanted it to be.


End file.
